


A Kind Of Magic

by cmdonovann



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Lysithea Crest Spoilers, Magic, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Vignette, linhardt and lysithea talk about magic and also their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdonovann/pseuds/cmdonovann
Summary: "Lysithea?""Yes?""May I ask you a rather personal question?"Lysithea glances around. The rest of the monastery is just beginning to wake; no one has yet disturbed them here on the cathedral bridge."I suppose," she says, leaning closer to him and lowering her voice."It's about your crests," Linhardt clarifies. He opens his eyes to look over at her, gaze slow and steady. Lysithea sighs."I don't exactly have anything left to hide from you, Linhardt," Lysithea says with a roll of her eyes."That's true enough," Linhardt agrees. "I believe I've asked you before, about how it feels to use your crests. I could pretend to be scientific about it, but in truth my curiosity isn't entirely due to my research."
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	A Kind Of Magic

"May I join you?" Linhardt's voice startles Lysithea. She grips the stone of the bridge to the cathedral with white knuckles, her little jump of surprise suddenly reminding her how precarious her current seat is.

"If you insist." Lysithea slides over carefully as Linhardt climbs up next to her, facing the opposite direction, his shoulder next to hers.

"It's always so quiet out here," Linhardt remarks, taking a deep breath as he looks over the bridge, up at the cathedral. The gate is closed; most of the monastery is probably still asleep, or just barely waking.

"It's kind of nice, isn't it?" Lysithea taps the heels of her shoes against the stone of the bridge, the polished leather making a soft _tap-tap-tap_ sound. She's probably scuffing them up, but at this point, when most of her clothes have stubborn bloodstains she can't wash out, Lysithea can't really be bothered to care.

"Mm," Linhardt hums in agreement, leaning closer to her, not quite touching. His gaze remains on the cathedral for a moment before drifting to look out across the bridge, eyes distant.

A quiet settles between them, thick with the morning fog and cut by rays of the sun peeking over the horizon. The only sound is the rustling of the wind through the trees, the occasional meow of one of the monastery cats passing by, and the echo of Lysithea's heels tapping out their meter against the bridge.

"Tomorrow we leave for Enbarr," Lysithea says after a few minutes. Linhardt sighs.

"I must admit I'm not terribly keen to go," he says, a tremor in his voice.

"Afraid to die, Linhardt?"

He is quiet for a few seconds, as if pondering the question. When he answers, he sounds almost surprised.

"No, not really. I will die eventually, regardless of what I do. But there are things I'd like to do before I die. People I'd like to look after." Linhardt leans back on his hands, his thin shoulders angled precariously over the edge of the bridge. "In truth, I'm more afraid of losing people than I am of dying. How strange."

Lysithea looks over at him, the golden glow of the rising sun illuminating his hair and the sharp cut of one cheekbone where he's turned ever so slightly toward her.

"This is a little out of character for you."

"Isn't it? Maybe the war has changed me for the better, after all."

Lysithea looks down at the chasm below her. "Is it really for the better if you don't care if you die?"

"I— oh. I'm sorry, Lysithea."

"It's fine."

The silence returns once more. Linhardt closes his eyes, breathing deep in the cool, humid morning air.

"Lysithea?"

"Yes?"

"May I ask you a rather personal question?"

Lysithea glances around. The rest of the monastery is just beginning to wake; no one has yet disturbed them here on the cathedral bridge.

"I suppose," she says, leaning closer to him and lowering her voice.

"It's about your crests," Linhardt clarifies. He opens his eyes to look over at her, gaze slow and steady. Lysithea sighs.

"I don't exactly have anything left to hide from you, Linhardt," Lysithea says with a roll of her eyes.

"That's true enough," Linhardt agrees. "I believe I've asked you before, about how it feels to use your crests. I could pretend to be scientific about it, but in truth my curiosity isn't entirely due to my research."

Lysithea crosses her arms, pulling her feet up from the edge of the bridge and sitting cross-legged, turning to look over at Linhardt. "What is it then, if not scientific curiosity? Why do you continue to bother me with pointless questions?"

Linhardt smiles, an almost unnoticeable quirk of his lips, a softness in his eyes. "Perhaps you find my questions pointless, but I ask them because I want to understand you." For a moment he almost looks sad, and Lysithea is taken aback by his earnestness.

"What about me is there to understand? I would hope you know me well enough by now, after all we've been through together."

Linhardt frowns, his brows drawn together as he thinks.

"A while ago, I asked Marianne what it feels like when she heals others with magic. He answer was so... so wholly unlike my own experience, so foreign to me, that I began to think that perhaps magic feels different to every person that uses it. I've begun to wonder if crests are the same. You, for example, have the crests of Gloucester and Charon, yet if I asked Lorenz or Catherine how it feels to use those crests, I'm sure their answers would be nothing like yours." Linhardt pauses, taking a breath and leaning closer to Lysithea. "I think that the way one experiences these things, and the way one describes those experiences to others... that is a great insight into that person's mind and heart."

"I see," Lysithea says after a while.

For a moment neither says anything, the rustle of the trees and the whistling of the wind through the towers of the monastery punctuating the silence between them.

"Linhardt," Lysithea breaks it first, "what does it feel like for you? To heal, I mean, and to use your crest."

Linhardt smiles warmly, turning to look at Lysithea.

"It's like... holding the sun inside you," he says, breathing deep and closing his eyes. "The light fills you up, radiating outward. Healing, then, is just a matter of reaching out in the darkness to your allies and using that light to illuminate them."

"Huh," Lysithea says, thinking. She leans on one hand and taps the pads of her fingers against the stone. "That sounds... kind of nice, actually."

"Oh, it can be," Linhardt says. "Sometimes it feels incredible. Euphoric. Other times it's overwhelming. I can feel the pain of those around me, but it's less like I'm actually experiencing it and more like looking through fog. They're always there, but it's distant. To heal, I first have to bring them into focus. It can be intense, but the worse their pain is, the more powerful it feels to take that pain away."

Lysithea nods. "You're right. That actually makes a lot of sense, coming from you. I see why you work the way you do."

"I'm glad you understand," Linhardt says, stretching. "I am still interested in your experience, if you feel inclined to share."

Lysithea turns back to kick her feet out over the edge again, looking at the tops of the trees below, shrouded in a low layer of morning fog. "I don't know. It feels so hard to explain."

"Take your time, then."

Lysithea leans her shoulder against Linhardt's, the slightest pressure, before moving away again. "For me, it's like falling. When I use magic, I can feel it pulling at me like gravity pulls a dead bird from the sky. I have to brace myself against it when I cast, or I worry I'll be sucked into it."

Linhardt says nothing. Lysithea looks over at him to find his eyes are closed, head tilted back. He looks content.

"And your crests?" he asks without opening his eyes.

"It's... similar," Lysithea continues, "but not quite the same. The crest of Charon— I don't know, it happens so rarely and so quickly that I don't even notice it sometimes. It's always when I'm using a sword, never with magic. It feels like a pull as well, like someone's put puppet strings on me." She pauses, resumes tapping her feet against the edge of the bridge as she thinks. "The crest of Gloucester is completely different, though."

"Oh?" Linhardt opens his eyes to look over at her, tilting his head to one side.

"It's like a weight. It balances out the pull of my magic. It grounds me, so I don't have to fight so hard just to cast. It helps me focus my energy."

"Mm. Does that feel good? It sounds nice," Linhardt says, closing his eyes again and leaning ever so slightly closer to Lysithea.

"I— yes, it does. I enjoy it, the weight. The pressure. It's calming."

Linhardt hums in acknowledgement.

"Linhardt?"

"Yes?"

"You never told me how your crest feels when you use it."

"I— oh, I suppose I didn't." He sits up straighter suddenly, looking out across the monastery. "It's actually rather embarrassing," he admits. Lysithea thinks he might be blushing, but the shadow on his face from the rising sun behind him makes it difficult to tell.

"Come on, Linhardt, I told you about mine," Lysithea chides, nudging him lightly with her arm.

"Well..." He looks at her out of the corner of his eye before glancing away again. "Have you ever been in love, Lysithea?"

Lysithea thinks for a moment she might fall off the bridge in surprise.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"That's what it feels like."

She stares at him, struggling to interpret the distant look on his face.

"Like... like being in love?"

"Yes and no. It just feels like _love._ The emotion, I mean."

Lysithea frowns, pondering Linhardt's statement. "Doesn't love feel different to each person, though?"

"Like magic? I hadn't thought of that, but perhaps you're right. What does love feel like to you, then?"

"I— Linhardt, you're weird."

Linhardt laughs softly. He leans toward her, a strand of hair falling and obscuring one of his eyes.

"Yes."

Lysithea can feel herself getting flustered, but she keeps talking. "It just feels..."

"Like this?"

She looks up at him, brushes the loose hair behind his ear. Linhardt leans closer, one hand bracing his weight next to her hip, his arm crossed over her as if to keep her from falling.

She kisses him. It's brief, the lightest press of her lips to his, but she can feel him smile and it's like the rising sun has made its home in her chest, brilliant and warm and steady.

"Yes," Lysithea replies as she leans her forehead against his, "just like this."


End file.
